


I Hope

by SilverTongues



Category: DCU, Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Abusive Tom Dupain and Sabine Cheng, Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir Bashing, Adrien salt, All the Adrien salt, Bio!mom Marinette, Chloé Bourgeois Redemption, F/M, M/M, Mild Language, Neglect, No Smut, No graphic sex, Panic Attacks, Sorry Adrien, Trauma, Unplanned Pregnancy, but mentioned, but not in this fic, creepy/obsessive conversation/behavior, good parent/person Bruce, minor Alya and Lila bashing/salt, sorry actually kind of good parents
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-13 04:43:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29895804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverTongues/pseuds/SilverTongues
Summary: One year after Hawkmoth is defeated, and all the miraculous have been collected, Adrien forcibly takes Marinette's innocence. After it is discovered that she is pregnant, as she gives birth, Marinette's parents take her baby, Timothy Jesper, away. After fifteen years of health issues, money problems, and searching, Marinette finally finds her son after his adoptive name is plastered all over the newspapers, announcing his adoption into the Wayne family.Marinette finally has the chance to connect with her son! Little does she know, however, that someone else, with a far more sinister motive, is also searching...
Relationships: Chloé Bourgeois & Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Kent Connor/Tim Drake/Kon-El | Conner Kent, Marinette Dupain-Cheng & Alfred Pennyworth, Marinette Dupain-Cheng & Bruce Wayne, Marinette Dupain-Cheng & Dick Grayson, Marinette Dupain-Cheng & Selina Kyle, Marinette Dupain-Cheng & Timothy Drake, Marinette Dupain-Cheng/Adrien Agreste (one sided), Marinette Dupain-Cheng/Luka Couffaine (past) (mentioned), Marinette dupain-cheng & Jason Todd, Selina Kyle/Bruce Wayne (minor)
Kudos: 58





	1. The Chance

**Author's Note:**

> A few things that NEED to be addressed before this fic.  
> 1.RAPE IS NEVER THE VICTIMS FAULT. EVER.  
> 2.No one one should EVER be FORCED to keep a baby that is the product of rape, or could kill the mother. Marinette CHOOSES to LOVE AND ACCEPT the baby, but real life victims of rape are under NO OBLIGATION to do the same.  
> 3.WHEN SOMEONE SAYS 'NO', THEY MEAN NO!!!! DO NOT keep pushing them or touching them, DO NOT.  
> 4.At some point in the story, it talks about a law that says the baby of an underage mother is in the grandparents custody. As fas as I know, that is completely made up for the story so don’t be hating on France, I made it up…  
> Don’t worry, I don’t think you guys are rapists or would be inspired to rape because of my fic, I just felt the need to put that up there :)  
> Also, this takes place before anyone knows about Damian. Don’t get me wrong, I love him, but this is for Marinette and Tim.

Marinette Fu-Lenoir (formerly Dupain-Cheng) sighed as she clicked through her messages. They were mostly spam, ads and newsletters, but occasionally she found an email from a recurring or new client for her international fashion brand, the Luckybug Boutique, or the LB for short. Most of the emails from her previous clients were thank you notes she had read before, and she only skimmed the new ones. At this point, it was safe to say she was only going through the motions, before she did what she _really_ wanted to do when she’d approached her computer.

Messages quickly ~~sorted~~ sloppily pushed aside, she switched to a search engine, and began looking. As soon as she had acquired the time, money, and influence, her research had begun. For the last year, after fourteen long years of hardship and desperate longing, she had finally been able to dedicate herself to finding him.

Her son.

Her Timothy.

She had made headway. She knew he had been taken to several different orphanages. She knew he’d been adopted only a year after he was born. She knew he had been adopted by a wealthy family, the Drakes.

Beyond that, Marinette did not know anything.

The Drakes had paid good money to make sure no one could know.

But she promised herself she would find out.

Before she began searching deeply, she started with a little tradition of hers, a Hail Mary, a fool’s hope, by just typing ‘Timothy Drake’ into the search bar.

As usual, she didn’t expect anything to show up. Nothing ever did, the Drakes were too thorough in keeping everyone who might be looking from him.

But today--today, Marinette was stunned to discover her baby’s name plastered across the web page.

The first result was a headline, in huge, blocky letters, that made her stifle a sob, or a laugh, she couldn't tell.

> _**Billionaire Bruce Wayne Adopts Timothy Drake Out From Under His Parents’ Nose** _

There he was!

Her son, Timothy, _right there!_

Suddenly so much more accessible even if he had been adopted by someone else again.

A sudden memory tugged at her thoughts, and she switched back to her email, her movements frantic.

There, the most recent email, was from a Mr. B. Wayne.

Marinette allowed a small scream to escape her. Almost immediately afterwards, her long-time friend and business partner, Chloé Bourgeois, crashed into the room.

After Marinette had dropped out of Lycée (high school) due to The Incident, and won her case against Agreste, Chloé had approached her, wishing to make amends. With no other real friends or family left, and no place to stay or eat, Marinette had jumped at the chance like a starving man would lunge for a piece of bread. After that, they were inseparable, and they were both secure in the knowledge they could trust in the other no matter what.

‘What?! F.L., what the heck’s the matter?! Is it--?’

‘It’s Timothy,’ Marinette whispered from behind her hand, tears shimmering in her bluebell eyes.‘I found Timothy, and…I found a way to get to him!’

Chloé didn’t speak for a long moment, her mouth agape.

And then she shrieked as well, lunging over the desk to hug Marinette, and Marinette felt a few tears slip down her cheeks even as she smiled.

As soon as she disentangled herself, Chloé was talking business.

‘Okay, so obviously, you need to go, it’s utterly ridiculous for there to even be a question! So, Maribug, just log in the vacation hours--’

‘No.’

‘No?!’

‘I mean…my opportunity to find him is _because_ of work. his new adoptive father wants to hire me to make suits for him and his sons. I can approach him first, talk about…talk about a chance.’

‘Sometimes you are too nice for your own good, Fu-Lenoir. What if he tells you to never darken their door again? What if--’

‘I know, Chloé. Believe me, I've thought about it. But…but I need to do this right. This man, this Bruce…he chose to rescue Timothy from the Drakes, I know they were terrible. He _has_ to be better, and…and if I don’t do this right, if I just take Timothy away from his new family, I’m no better than my--than the Dupain-Chengs. I’m going to accept this job, and do it right. It isn’t in me to do it any other way.’

Chloé smiled down at her exasperatedly.

‘Honestly, F.L., what did the world do to deserve you?’

‘Not enough,’ Marinette muttered,‘not damn near enough.’

* * *

Marinette clutched her bag to her chest. It was small, only big enough for her notebook, a particular file, her measuring tape, and a miniature version of the miracle box, which Marinette never let out of her sight, and had made small for her convenience.

She was sitting in the lobby of the Wayne Enterprises building, waiting anxiously for her appointment to measure two of the three living Wayne men. Timothy himself was still in school, and Marinette welcomed the opportunity to discuss things with Mr. Wayne first.

Even if the whole idea made her nervous, and she was struggling not to pace, her fingers drumming nervously on her bag.

32 and she still couldn't wrangle her anxiety. She chuckled humourlessly. At least she had taking their measurements to ground her. She could always keep her head in a professional setting, and she hoped that would still be true in this instance.

‘Miss MFL?’

Marinette looked up, jumping to her feet when she saw who was in front of her.

Bruce Wayne, and Dick Grayson.

‘Y-yes, it’s--it’s--that’s me. But please, call me--call me Marinette, MLF is just for safety, not--not clients.’

Why, oh _why_ , did she have to stutter during the most important meeting of her life?

A familiar pang of longing made her heart ache, and she was reminded of her goal.

Steeling her nerves, she managed to collect herself, and stick out her hand for one of them to shake.

‘It’s a pleasure to meet you,’Bruce smiled. ‘You have no idea how glad we are that you decided to make our suits.’

Marinette smiled.

‘I was happy to receive the request.’ _You have no idea._ ‘You know you’ve made it big when Bruce Wayne himself is asking for your work.’

Bruce chuckled, before guiding her to the doors.

‘Bruce and I have finished up working here,’ Dick explained, giving his unfairly charming smile,‘and we thought it would be more convenient if we had our measurements taken at home. Not only could Timmy join us there faster, but you might get a better idea of our style.’

‘Great idea,’ Marinette chirped, although inwardly she panicked. She was not emotionally prepared to meet Timothy yet. What if he hated her? What if he never wanted to see her again? What if--?

‘Good afternoon, Miss MFL.’

The old, but no less smooth, British voice snapped her out of her spiral.

Standing in front of an honest to goodness limousine was a very sharply dressed older gentleman, a butler, if Marinette had to guess.

‘Thank you, monsieur, you as well. And please, call me Marinette.’

‘Alfred is our butler, but more like family,’ Bruce informed her as he opened the door to the limo, letting her in first. ‘He raised me after my parents were killed.’

Marinette wasn’t entirely sure what to do with that information, so she smiled a little nervously, and nodded, sliding onto the faux leather seats within the car.

The ride passed quickly with pleasant conversation.

Dick was even bit as charming as he looked, and very kind and respectful. If only she were ten years younger, Marinette thought, she would have liked to get closer to him. As it was, he was merely cute, and she never forgot her original purpose.

Bruce was more reserved that Dick, but still intelligent and engaging. He was only a couple of years older than her, and, by all reports a playboy, though the latest scoop was his longest relationship ever, the one with a certain Selina Kyle. Still, it was nice getting to know him.

But Timothy. Timothy was always her priority, and always would be.

* * *

As soon as they were situated in an unfairly large library, with tea and biscuits, Marinette was ready. Instead of taking out her measuring tape, she took out the file, the file that contained Timothy's birth certificate, her identification, and all of the records she'd managed to collect, as well as a brief section about Agreste.

‘Mr. Wayne, Mr. Grayson, I have to admit I haven’t been entirely honest with you.’

Both men tensed almost imperceptibly, although she would never have noticed if not for her time as Ladybug. Still, she soldiered on.

‘I didn’t come here just because of the job, although I am grateful for the opportunity. I came--I came because of Timothy. I…you see, I…’

She took a deep breath. she was improvising, and rather badly at that, but she knew she would get through it. She had to.

‘I’m going to tell you a little story, and I promise it will make sense later, but you have to just listen, because I don’t think I would be able to keep going if I were interrupted.’

Bruce, after a moment, nodded, before sitting in the overstuffed chair across from her. His expression was very grave, but otherwise unreadable.

Dick also nodded, sitting on the sofa to her left, looking worried.

She perched of the armchair behind her, and struggled to begin.

‘I assume you are aware of the old Hawkmoth situation?’ she began haltingly. Both nodded.

‘That started when I was thirteen. I had just moved up to lycée, and I remember very vividly the…fear. The suppression of…everything. It was not a good environment for teenagers to grow up in. When I was thirteen, a rich boy was enrolled in my school. So was the daughter of an Italian ambassador. They are important to the story. The boy was a very famous model, and everyone had a crush on him. I did as well, but I only told my friend of the time. When I was fourteen, I was given the opportunity to design for Jagged Stone, and I accepted. That was the jumpstart for my career, and I knew then I did not have time for a crush, which would not have lasted past school anyway. So I abandoned it, and focussed on my career instead. This is where the daughter of the diplomat comes in. Most of what occurred was just teenage drama, but some of it was all too real. She was…she was an awful liar. She claimed connections and experiences she very obviously didn’t have, especially if one were to look for evidence. But everyone believed her. She was the new, shiny thing, with a silver tongue, who promised opportunities she could never give. My classmates believed her, and abandoned their efforts to put themselves out there for their careers, banking on her ‘inside information’. At first, I tried to warn them, but I only alienated myself. It was all too easy after that for the other girl to make them believe I hurt and bullied her. They began to hurt and bully me instead.

‘Two years after that, Hawkmoth was defeated, and my connections with Jagged Stone and Clara Nightingale had only grown, and in spite of being the class pariah, I had a wonderful boyfriend outside of my school, although I’d told no one. For all that time, despite being held hostage by our emotions, I was bullied throughout, and told by the administration to suck it up, and be the good example.

‘And this is where the model really comes in. He had been ‘in love’ with Paris’ super heroine, Ladybug, the entire time she was operating. But after she and her so-called partner, Chat Noir, disappeared, he abandoned that crush, and let everyone know. Also, he had known the whole time that the girl was lying, but had decided not to say anything, because, according to him, she wasn’t hurting anyone. I would have supposed I was just nothing to him because of that, if not for what happened next.

‘My friend, my former friend, who was the only one whom I’d told about my old crush, decided to try to humiliate me by announcing it in front of the entire class, as if I still had it. That's when things really changed. It seems he switched his obsession with Ladybug to me after the announcement almost instantly. It started innocent enough at first. He would leave me chocolates and flowers, and I would return them, and tell him I was in a relationship with someones else, and I had no feelings for him. But he persisted. The liar told him I was only playing hard to get, that I had confided to her I actually did like the boy, but I wanted to give him a challenge. She also told my parents that I was bullying her (never mind the bruises, sprains, broken bones, and destroyed property I received at her hand), and that if they encouraged the model, and tried to make me take him as a good influence, it would get better. _And they believed her_. They ordered me to date him, in spite of knowing that I was happy in my relationship with the other boy. And they gave the model their permission, and blessing. He started--’

Marinette faltered here, before sipping her tea, and taking a fortifying breath. Dick looked aghast, and Bruce was watching her with sadness in his eyes.

She focussed on the carpet instead.

‘He started touching me when I didn’t want him to. Where I didn’t want him to. He would grab my hand, my waist, my--my chest. He would run his hand down my back and through my hair, and tell me I was his, and his alone. That we were _destined_ to be together. This went on for a year. Every time I rejected him just seemed to incentivise him. He would tell me I needed to learn my place, and that my place was _under_ him. I tried to go to the police, but they didn't believe that the ‘Sunshine Child’, a persona he carefully developed, could possibly be so terrible.

‘Then, after I turned seventeen, and he was eighteen, I was returning to my parents’ house after a date with my boyfriend, who was accompanying me back. The model was lurking right outside the front door, and he had clearly been drinking. We tried to go in through the side door, out of his sight, but he noticed us. He threw a loose brick, and it clipped my boyfriend in the head, knocking him out. I tried to run then, but he was faster, and he pinned me down. He told he he would not take no for an answer, and as soon as he did this, I would realise my love for him…’

‘He--he…’

Marinette paused again, wiping her eyes, and drinking more tea. She didn’t know when, but Alfred had started listening, and he had draped a thick, fuzzy blanket across her shoulders.

Marinette forced herself to continue.

‘He did… _it_. I tried--I tried--I tried to stop him, but it didn’t work. My boyfriend woke up in time to see him…see him finish, and so he took his guitar, which he’d been playing for me on the way back, and hit the model until he was unconscious. he called the police, and the model was arrested. Because of my boyfriend’s witness statement, and the security camera above my parents’ shop, he was convicted…but after the fact…the liar convinced everyone at school, and my parents, that I had lied to get the model arrested, that I had--had secretly enjoyed it, and that I was nothing more than a--than--than a…than a _whore_. My parents, of course, believed her once again, and forced me to drop out of school, and I was only rarely allowed out of the house at all. I was told…it was my own fault for leading him on, that I was a disgusting girl who had made terrible choices…I was ashamed, and guilty…I hated myself, I felt unclean… So I broke up with. my boyfriend, and allowed myself to be punished.

‘And then--I discovered I was pregnant. I felt worse. I wanted to get an abortion. I wanted--I wanted no part of _him_ inside me, and the doctors I visited said that if I carried the child full term, if it didn’t kill me, I would suffer from long term medical issues, like immunodeficiency.

‘My parents didn’t care. They told me I _had_ to carry it, I _had_ to deal with it myself. That I had caused it, and so it was my problem, and mine alone. When I began to show, they locked me in my room, only allowing me out to use the bathroom.

‘The only good thing that came out of my imprisonment and isolation, was that I had time to think. The baby was not at fault, I realised. It would grow into its own being, away from his father’s influence. Here was an opportunity to love and _be_ loved as I had never experienced before. A new start, a _hope_. A chance to have a real family, to move passed what had happened…even if I might die because of it.

‘Even though I hated the reasons my parents had for it, I was glad they made me keep the baby, and I resolved to be the best mother the baby could have.

‘The day he came was the happiest day of my life. July nineteenth, his birthday. For once, my parents weren’t near, because of the complications only the doctors were allowed in the room with me. When he was born, he was the most beautiful being I had every seen… and I named him Timothy…’

‘But the medical issues caught up with me. I had to be separated from Timothy for the surgery. On the table, I died for two minutes. It shattered my health, and it had to be made so I could never bear children again, or I would die permanently.

‘And while I was in the operating room, my parents took--took T-timothy away. You see, in France at the time, there was a law that if an underage girl had an unplanned pregnancy, or one without her parents’ permission, the parents of the mother would have full custody of the child, and could do almost whatever they wanted with it--’

‘And they took--they took--they took him away--’

Marinette was full on crying now, sobs wracking her too-thin body, and she had to take several moments to compose herself, with Alfred placing a comforting hand on her shoulder.

When she felt she could speak again, she continued.

‘I turned eighteen almost a week after that, and my parents threw me out onto the streets…barely alive, very sick, and getting worse every day. That is where Chloé, Chloé Bourgeois found me. She is my best friend, and business partner, and I can never repay her kindness to me. Before lycée, we--we hated each other. But when she found me starving on the streets, she took care of me first, and then asked to resolve our differences, which we did. Because of her, I had food and a place to stay, as I had to use all of my savings for my trips to the hospital over the next six years. My life…my life was dictated by check ups, surgeries, and pills, and I could not maintain or find a job to pay for it all. I only managed it because I’d kept my college funds and commission money in a private account, although that was completely gone very soon after my last surgery.

‘I managed to recover, and once I was sure those terrible days were behind me, I was able to reach out to Jagged Stone and the rest, who were more than happy to commission me again, for which I will be eternally grateful.

‘Another two years after that, and I had made enough money to hire a private investigator to find him. Timothy. At first, it was promising. The investigator found the first two orphanages Timothy had been taken to. But then, he said, the trail went cold, and he gave me half of my money back.

‘I saved for another year, and hired another investigator…but the same thing happened. Progress, and then, nothing. Three more years, three more investigators, and still, nothing…I found out afterwards, completely by accident, that my parents and the Drakes, who had adopted Timothy, had been paying the private investigators double to sabotage our search.

‘I had never felt worse. I was very close to giving up…on everything. But once again, Chloé saved me. She encouraged me, and came up with a plan. We had already become well known in the fashion community, and we would build it up. We would make ourselves money and power and influence, and fund our own search.

‘And we did. I quickly had the time and the money to find him. I developed the habit of a simple search, first thing, every time. And the day I messaged you, that was the day I found the article about you adopting him…and I admit, freely, that the biggest reason I took the job was for Timothy…’

There was complete silence for a long while.

‘Mr. Wayne…I am not asking for you to give him up to me. I know…you probably don’t even believe me… But please, _please_ …can you give me a chance? Just a chance, to know him. And if you say no, I’ll leave. You never need to see me again, I _swear_ I’ll leave him alone. But I would like…no, I would _love_ the chance to meet and know him, at least a little.’

Marinette took a deep, shuddering breath, and met Bruce’s eyes, searching for a reaction.

She was surprised to see a little wetness there, as if he were trying not to cry.

And then he stood, and crossed over to her, hugging her briefly.

‘There is…a lot to unpack there, Miss Marinette, and I will be…looking into your story. But I _will_ do what I can to give you your chance.’

Emotions welled up in her throat, choking off her words, but she nodded, giving a watery smile, a few more tears tracking their way across her already stained face.

Dick, on the other hand, was sniffling uncontrollably, and unashamed, as tears poured down his face.

‘That was--I mean…’ he hiccoughed, before giving up, and just smiling supportively through the tears.

‘I suppose, then, I should fetch Master Timothy from school,’ Alfred said, giving Marinette, a kind smile.

‘Probably, thank you, Alfred,’Bruce said, standing.

Alfred nodded, and with a last, reassuring pat on Marinette’s shoulder, he left.

Suddenly remembering the file, Marinette handed it over to Bruce, who flipped through it, before pausing at a particular section.

‘Who is this Adrian Agreste?’

Marinette flinched violently, upending her tea cup over the coffee table. Dick immediately grabbed the tissue box, and started mopping up the spilt tea.

‘He’s--he’s the one who did it. He is Timothy’s father. And I have to warn you…because of our hard evidence, he _was_ convicted, but only for fifteen years. He’s being released in a day or two, he--because of the reputation he still has, in spite of everything--because he still has rights and access to his father’s fortune, I don’t know…I’m not sure I would be able to get him imprisoned again, or get a restraining order so if-- _when_ he broke it he’d be arrested…he is _very_ dangerous. he fixates on things, and people. whatever or whoever he claims as his he will never stop trying to _take_. I did my best to make sure he never knew about Timothy, but he might have found out from someone else, like my parents.

‘He will believe he is entitled to him, that Timothy _deserves_ to be subjugated by him, and if Tim resists, if Timothy is taken and he resists, Ad-Adrien will not stop hurting him until he doesn’t resist. Even if I have no relationship with Timothy, even if he wants nothing to do with any of this, I am terrified that Agreste will come, and I _had_ to warn you…’

Bruce had become very serious, and Dick was downright furious.

‘We’ll find a way to take care of him,’ Bruce promised a little darkly. ‘He won’t hurt you, and we will never allow him to get near Tim, you have my word.’

Dick nodded, not losing his scowl.

‘Tim is my brother. That might be because of horrible circumstances, but that doesn’t change a thing.’

Marinette nodded, her relief plain on her face, before her expression suddenly twisted up with guilt.

‘Oh my goodness, I completely forgot you guys wanted suits!’

Bruce and Dick began to laugh, as Marinette finally brought out her measuring tape, and pushed them into t poses.


	2. The Reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has a break down that is potentially triggering, so if you don’t want to read it, there’s a summary at the end. I don’t think it’s terribly bad (or very long), but I also don’t know what might trigger people, so just jump from one these ❇❇❇❇❇❇❇❇❇❇❇❇❇ to the other

Timothy Jackson Drake was having A Day. First, he’d only _barely_ managed to hide his Starbucks super coffee in a McDonald’s soda cup before Alfred picked him up, which resulted in him spilling a little, and wasting the precious liquid.

Then, in English class, they’d had a surprise vocabulary quiz. _Technically_ , he’d gotten everything right, but the teacher said that _synonyms_ of the words she was quizzing him on didn’t count.

After that, he really had spilled his coffee, in math class, making his teacher slip as he was handing out their graded midterms (half of their grade), ruining not only his clothes, but half a dozen of the tests.

Including Tim’s.

Luckily, the grades had already been put into the system. Otherwise, his classmates, already unhappy with him, would have probably killed him in short order.

The rest of his day passed with similar luck.

The only thing that kept him going was the thought that, as soon as he got home, he would be meeting MFL, the reclusive but supremely talented fashion designer. As soon as Tim had seen her work on an old Jagged Stone Rock Giant album, he had insisted that Bruce commission suits from her for the upcoming Wayne gala. Not only did Tim know the suits would look amazing, but MLF, in an audio-only interview with a voice modulator, had specifically said she delighted in designing clothes that, in addition to looking good enough for any occasion, could be worn under any circumstances. Deliberately made to be light, moveable, durable, and even sometimes protective, her designs were for anyone who felt they’d go from safety to danger in a matter of seconds, and Tim knew there was nothing better for undercover vigilantes.

While commissioning her directly was very, very expensive, Tim knew the results were well worth it.

Add to that the fact that 50% of the proceeds from commissioned work, and 30% from the more widely accessible clothing lines (which was affordable to an unheard of 96.2% of all shoppers), went to rape victims, rape awareness organisations, and recovery centres. Not only would the clothes make escaping, or fighting in, a situation easier, but the victim would have support after the fact should they need it.

Tim not only supported the cause whole-heartedly, he felt enraged on behalf of MLF, who had briefly stated once that she did all that because she herself had been raped, when she was seventeen, and could only _wish_ for such help at the time.

Dick and Bruce hadn’t known about that part, though. They hadn’t been as interested in Jagged’s old music, or his inspiring designer.

Jason had, and had introduced Tim to it, but since he wasn’t living with Bruce and was still considered dead, legally speaking (and as far as anyone knew _generally_ ), he would have to settle with buying one of her factory-made products, which was available in _every_ generic clothing store.

Tim felt a little bad about that, but not by much. After all, he had tried to kill Tim after Jason came back from his little League of Shadows sabbatical.

Although, Alfred might be able to give MLF Jason’s measurements, and say it was a Christmas gift for his cousin. Their cousin. Someone’s cousin, anyway.

As soon as he saw Alfred pull up to the school in the limo, Tim was off like a shot, barely getting himself and the bag in the door before he’d shut the door and bucked up.

But the car didn’t move.

‘Alfred?’

The butler was sitting at the wheel, hands carefully folded in his lap.

‘Alfred?’ Tim tried again, and it seemed as if the normally unflappable butler took a breath to compose himself.

‘Have some tea, Master Timothy.’

Tim noticed a thermos in the cupholder beside him. He ignored it.

‘What’s the matter, Alfred? Is someone hurt? Did MLF cancel?’

His mind began racing through all of the possibilities. What if Jason was—or was it Dick? Did Bruce get—

‘No one is hurt, yet.’

‘That’s not ominous at all…’

‘Master Timothy…Tim.’

That threw Tim for a loop. Alfred never addressed anyone by only their first name, let alone by just a nickname. This really must be serious.

‘What I am about to tell you…may be very distressing. But you should be aware that, no matter what happens, no matter how you react or what you decide, your brothers, Master Bruce, and I support and care for you.’

‘This is kind of freaking me out, Alf.’

‘I apologise, Tim, but it was necessary to remind you.’

‘So what is it? This is driving me crazy—’

‘Jack and Janet Drake are not your biological parents.’

Tim froze. That was not what he was expecting at all. They’re not? Then who was?

It didn’t bother him, exactly, they’d never been the best parents (or even good ones), but how had Bruce found out? There was no doubt in his mind it was Bruce who’d found out.

‘But how do you know? Did Bruce—Did he—?’

It would be just like him to steal a DNA sample.

‘How was it even a question?!’

Tim could feel himself getting angry, though he could tell it wasn’t entirely because he thought Bruce would have blindsided him like that.

‘Master Bruce had nothing to do with it, Master Timothy. I understand you are upset, but please listen to me.’

Tim nodded, and decided the tea might be a good idea after all, then taking a sip.

‘Today, Miss MFL—that is, Miss Marinette Fu-Lenoir—did not come just to make your suits, but to find you… She is your birth mother, and she used this opportunity to find and get to know you. She is by no means inclined to take you away, and has expressed the fervent desire to proceed according to _your_ wishes and feelings. If you do not wish to meet her, you have until you make it to the library…’

Tim tuned Alfred’s words out.

All Tim could hear was white noise.

MFL— _Marinette_ …she was—she was his _mother_. How—and why? What was he supposed to do?

‘Why?’

His voice came out in a croak, and he cleared his throat.

‘Why _now_ , after fifteen years? Why didn’t my—why didn’t the Drakes tell me?’

‘You will have to ask Miss Marinette for the full story, but I can tell you now that she spent those fifteen years either too ill to do anything, or searching for you. As for the Drakes… They knew that you had been forcefully taken from Miss Marinette by her parents, and had apparently agreed to a bargain to keep you from her. They even helped sabotage her early efforts to find you. The only reason she was able to locate you now is because Master Bruce’s adopting you reached papers internationally.’

Tim took a moment to process this.

His parents (fake parents) had taken him away.

She had _wanted_ him, which was more than the Drakes had ever shown.

A truly awful thought suddenly occurred to him.

MFL had kept all the details to herself, except when asked she mentioned she was seventeen when she was raped. She was now thirty two. He was fifteen.

Timothy was…he was a product of—

Tim felt sick.

No, he was _going_ to be sick.

He barely made it out of the car before he was hurling his lunch onto the curb.

When he was finished, Alfred was there with a roll of paper towels and a bottle of water, which Tim accepted gratefully.

‘It is _not_ your fault,’ Alfred said when he’d cleaned up, more forcefully than he’d ever heard the old butler get. ‘The man who did it _chose_ to commit an abominable crime, but his choices are not yours. Miss Marinette has chosen to love and accept you in spite of what _he_ did. I suggest you pay more attention to that, than _how_ you came about.’

Tim nodded, but didn’t meet Alfred’s eyes. Guilt and shame still gnawed at his insides, though Alfred’s little speech had lessened the edge for now.

‘I’d—I’d like to meet her,’ he said quietly, almost too quietly to hear, but Alfred nodded.

‘We can enter the manor through the garage, so you have an opportunity to freshen up.’

Tim nodded again, reentering the limo, albeit with much less gusto than the first time around.

* * *

As soon as the limo was parked, Tim ran out to his room. He still felt terrible about how he’d been conceived, but that couldn’t quell the thrill he felt.

Not only was he meeting MFL, but she was _his_ mother. His _mother!_ And she had apparently wanted to have him his whole life!

The future suddenly seemed bright and huge and hopeful, and filled with a mother’s love, something he’d never had before.

He barely stopped to consider that it might not work out as he brushed his teeth, then swallowed a breath mint.

He had a momentary crisis as he tried to change. He was meeting his _mother,_ who was a _fashion designer_ , he couldn’t afford to look sloppy or underdressed.

He first went with a simple white polo and jeans, before ~~combing~~ waving a comb at his hair.

Then he decided it didn’t feel like something he would wear normally, and this whole thing was to get to know each other better, right?

After many different tries, he ended with a pair of sweatpants, and a t-shirt with an enlarged picture of the Rock Giant album cover, with all of the credits written on the back, including MFL.

It was only as he reached his door that what was happening really hit him again.

He was meeting _his mother_. His idol.

A near total stranger who had given him life.

Who he had idolised for years.

Who he didn’t even know.

Who might care for him, _as him_ , as he felt no one had before.

What if she hated him? What if she only ever saw her tragedy in him? What if—and this was the worst part—what if he was too much like his biological—like his sperm donor?

A sharp knock at the door interrupted his spiral.

‘I do believe it is rude to keep Miss Marinette waiting,’ Alfred reminded him through the door.

Steeling his nerves with a last, deep breath, Tim opened the door and followed Alfred to the library.

Bruce was nowhere to be found, but Dick was there answering questions about his preferences in clothing. To no one’s surprise (except perhaps Marinette’s), he mentioned mainly gymnastics, and trapeze.

As soon as Marinette finished writing everything down, Dick excused himself, and Alfred cleared his throat.

Marinette jumped, dropping her sketchbook and pen.

Tim bent down to help her, and as he handed her her book, their eyes met, and he heard her breath catch. As for Tim, he froze again for a second.

Their eyes were identical, a deep bluebell blue.

Tim blushed out of sheer discomfort, before jumping back, then knocking into the sofa Dick had vacated, and falling over the arm onto it.

Great. This is _exactly_ how he wanted this to go.

‘Well, if I hadn’t already known you were my son, this proves it,’ Tim heard, and it was the most soothing and lovely voice he’d ever listened to. ‘Are you okay?’

It was tinged ever so slightly with the cutest French accent.

‘I’m fine, just dying of embarrassment,’ Tim mumbled from his place on the sofa, his legs still draped haphazardly over the arm. Marinette chuckled.

‘When you’ve finished dying, Master Timothy, perhaps you would enjoy _fresh_ tea and biscuits?’ Alfred asked sardonically, setting a new tray on the table.

Tim lurched into a proper seating position, shoving a cookie into his mouth almost immediately. Alfred’s baking was to _die_ for.

]Now, I will leave you two alone. Should either of you need anything, don’t hesitate to give a shout.’

‘Thank you, Alfred,’ Marinette smiled.

To Tim, it looked so very kind, and comforting. He was struck again by her voice. Perhaps he was biased, or overexcited, or Marinette had exactly the voice a mother should have: mellow, sweet, and kind.

And then it was just the two of them.

Tim met her eyes again, then glanced away awkwardly.

If he were being honest with himself, he’d admit he had no idea what to do in this situation.

‘May I—…If you are uncomfortable, I’m sure Bruce, or Dick, could be found—’

‘No! No, no thanks. I’d…I’d like to…I’d like for it to be just us, right now.’

He’d just met his mother, and he wanted to get to know her _first_. He glanced over again, and she was smiling with such empathy, he had to look away, again.

‘How about I measure you for your suit, and then I’ll ask you a few questions about your preferences. I know that’s how I do all of my commissions, but I’ve found it’s an excellent conversation starter.’

Tim nodded, and stood, holding his arms out parallel to the ground.

‘So, what do you call yourself? Full name, then any preferred nicknames and pronouns…’

‘Timothy Jackson Drake, Tim or Timmy, and he/his/him.’

Marinette tutted in mild irritation.

‘What is it?’

‘The name I—the name on your birth certificate is Timothy Jesper—it had meaning, I suppose you could say.’

‘What does it mean?’

His arm twitched in his excitement, throwing her measurements off, though her only reaction was a slight uptilt of the corner of her mouth.

‘Jesper was a derivative of j’espère, which means ‘I hope’.’

Timothy smiled a little. He liked that much better than _‘Jackson’_.

‘What are your favourite colours?’

‘Red and black.’

‘Oh! Mine too, although I’d guess for different reasons.’

‘Why?’

‘Why what?’

‘Why different reasons? And why do you like those colours?’

‘Well, I like them because they are the colours of the Parisian hero, Ladybug. She was my hero as a child, though she’s disappeared now. And I don’t imagine you’ve had much experience with her, as she worked, then left, before you were born.’

The guilt came back, but he shoved it down.

‘Why did she leave?’

‘Her job was done. She didn’t fight crime like Batman or Superman does, she only had one mission, and that was to bring Hawkmoth down. Once he was gone, she didn’t need to stay. And—and no one knows for sure, but it seemed she was very young, a teenager at the most, with no support. It must have been very hard for her, and I can imagine wanting at least a _little_ rest from years of fighting without respite.’

Tim nodded. As Robin, at least he had the support of Batman, Nightwing, and, occasionally, Red Hood. Even then, there were some nights it seemed too difficult, or too horrible, to continue, and trying to juggle a hero life with a civilian life completely by oneself seemed next to impossible.

‘What do you want from your clothes?’

Tim’s eyebrows twitched in confusion.

‘What do you mean?’

‘I’ve found that suits, dresses, and other pieces of formal wear can be very restricting, especially in instances where you might need to move quickly, and well. When I was—when I needed to get away from my troubles the most, I found that my own clothes worked against me. My question is, is there anything you know you’d need your clothes to be able to allow for if you were ever in a trying situation like that?’

Tim winced somewhat noticeably, the now-familiar shame and guilt trying to claw its way up his throat.

Marinette froze for just a second, before enveloping him in a hug.

‘I am so, so sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel guilty,’ she murmured quietly in his ear, rubbing his back. ‘It’s not your fault, none of it is. It _never_ could be.’

Tim reciprocated the hug. he felt tears sliding down his face. It had been quite a while since he’d cried, since he’d _let_ himself cry. Between the Drakes regarding him a failure if he so much as sniffled, and wanting to impress Bruce, he hadn’t let his guard down long enough to. He wondered how she’d already managed to work her way past that so quickly.

Is this what it felt like?

Having a mother who _cared?_

It felt good. Safe, and warm. Like a years-long ache had been relieved.

He felt a drop on his shoulder, and he realised no matter how he felt _now_ , she must feel it ten times stronger. She had known the _entire time_ something was missing. She had had to endure fifteen long years knowing a piece of her family, of _herself_ , was so out of reach.

He hugged her tighter. He didn’t know her all that well yet, but he would. Even if he was adopted by Bruce now, he swore he’d have a relationship with her.

They both deserved it.

Heavy footsteps sounded in the hall, and they broke apart, Marinette blushing a little.

‘I’m sorry if I overstepped. I should have asked if you were comfortable with me hugging you, I just—’

‘I understand,’ Tim said, wiping his eyes a little with his sleeve, and smiling. ‘It was fine—’

‘Hey, Replacement!’

Tim swore under his breath, and Marinette glanced at him in surprise.

Jason was right outside the door. He knew he wasn’t supposed to come around when an outsider was over, and they’d given him plenty of warning!

Jason crossed the threshold into the library, then blanched at the sight of Marinette.

‘Holy shit, sorry—I didn’t realise someone was over.’

‘One, we did tell you, and two, now she knows,’ Tim grumped.

‘What do I know?’ Marinette asked, a little nonplussed.

‘Ah, well, I’m Jason, Replacement’s other older brother.’

The change was instant. Her spine stiffened, and her eyes flashed.

‘ _Please_. Do not call him that. He is not your _replacement_. From what I know, Bruce adopted you both because he felt he could take care of you, and help you out of terrible situations. He did not choose you for a limited spot like some sort of contest, he was giving both of you a loving home. _No one_ was replacing _anyone_ , there is plenty of room for everyone to live and get along here. And calling someone your replacement is demeaning, hurtful, and cruel, even if you might not mean it that way. So stop, and apologise. _Meaningfully_.’

She didn’t raise her voice, or lose the cool, but polite, tone, but the reprimand was still very present, and a little chilling.

Jason raised his eyebrows, but Tim could tell he was impressed, and at least a little intimidated, in spite of Marinette’s tiny stature.

‘Okay.’

He met Tim’s eyes, catching him by surprise.

‘I’m sorry for calling you ‘replacement’, and belittling you. It won’t happen again.’

Tim blinked. He actually seemed sincere about it, so he nodded, and smiled a little.

‘Are we good?’ Jason checked, looking at Marinette. Tim got the sense that, in spite of a less than stellar impression, and the brevity of the meeting, Jason actually really liked her.

She half smiled, and nodded.

‘Now that _that’s_ done, I thought you were…dead?’

Jason rubbed the back of his neck.

‘No, I just got…I just got caught in a bombing in Ethiopia…I didn’t die, obviously, but I lost my memory for a bit, and there was another body which might have been mine, and it’s a mess…We keep everyone thinking I’m dead because, one, resurrecting someone on a legal basis is a trial, and, two, it was easier for me, mental health wise, to stay off of everyone’s radar.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that. Don’t worry, though, your secret’s safe with me. How about, as soon as I’m done measuring Timothy, I can measure you, and make you a new jacket or something?’

‘Yeah…Right. Who are you, again?’

‘Oh, merde, I am stupid! I forgot to introduce myself, and I reprimanded you… My name is Marinette Fu-Lenoir, although you may know me as MFL. I was hired by your father to make him and your brothers suits. I am more than happy to make you something, too, though, if you like.’

Jason’s jaw dropped, and Tim laughed.

‘He’d love a jacket,’ he supplied,‘he just needs to wrap his head around the fact that you’re actually here.’

‘He’s a fan?’

‘We both are. he introduced me to Jagged Stone, and through that, you. I pestered Bruce for three straight weeks to get him to commission you.’

‘Well, I’m glad you did, otherwise I wouldn’t have gotten the chance to get to know you.’

‘Hang on a second—‘get to know you’? Are you two— _related?_ I mean, you two already look almost identical, apart from the whole he’s a boy and you’re a woman thing…’

‘As a matter of fact,’ Tim said, smug smirk firmly in place, ‘it turns out she’s my biological mother.’

Jason’s jaw worked as he processed, before he hit himself in the face. Marinette squeaked in alarm, but he waved her off.

‘I was just checking,’ he muttered vaguely, before clapping his hands once.

‘You know what, have Re—Tim come find me when it’s my turn to be measured, I need to talk to Bruce and Dick…And Tim? _Be careful_.’

Tim, recognising the meaning behind his warning, nodded gravely, a little surprised that Jason had thought to say something about it.

With that, Jason left, though Marinette and tim could hear him yell ‘ _OH MY **GOD** ’ _from another room a few moments later, making them both giggle a little bit.

‘Back to my question, Tim, what do you want to be able to accomplish in your suit?’

‘I’d love full range of motion. Because of my p—my _fake_ parents, and then being adopted by Bruce, I’ve been targeted a couple of times. A few, actually. I’d like it if I could run, or fight, if needed. And don’t you have a special knife resistant material?’

‘ _Resistant_ , not _proof_ , but yes…’

‘That might be good, for all of our suits, actually.’

‘It might be better to use the bullet proof cloth then. That’ll work just as well, with added benefits. I’m not sure I like the idea of you being in a situation where you’d need that, however.’

‘It’s Gotham, it can’t really be helped. And you have bullet proof material that can be used for fancy dress wear?!’

‘Well, yes, technically, but I haven’t really used it, as it’s difficult to mass produce and hard to work with. At this point, the only way to get some is to commission it specifically, and no one has yet. But I can kind of see the need for it for you and the others.’

‘Does it cost a lot extra?’

‘A bit, as much as any rare material, and the more complex the garment, the harder it is for me to work it in, but since these are only suits and a jacket, it won’t be terribly much more. Certainly not enough to challenge the depths of the great Wayne wealth.’

‘Well then, it’s probably a good idea to incorporate that into everyone’s things. Is there any specific care needed?’

‘You are asking very good questions about this. And no, that’s the beauty of my designs. I make them specifically so that even the prettiest and most delicate piece of clothing can go through a war zone without any wearing or tearing, and can go into the laundry with the toughest of detergents and cycles. And can I just say, completely off topic, that today, really meeting you, has been the best time of my entire life, and I hope—I hope you are open to spending more time w-with me…having a proper relationship—if _you_ want, of course.’

The abrupt change in subject caught Tim briefly off guard, though he recovered quickly.

‘I would—I think I would love that, I think—I think we both deserve this. You to—to have me back, a chance at this—and maybe a, for me, a—well, a better—a better mother, maybe…’

Tim flushed red, and looked everywhere but at her. He was fifteen, for goodness’ sake, he should be able to control himself by now.

Marinette tilted his chin so he was looking at her, and he realised suddenly that they were the same height, even if she was a lot thinner than him. Far too thin than was healthy.

‘You should never be ashamed of your emotions. I know what that—that _woman_ , was like, what she must have forced you to behave like, but that is not a healthy way to cope with your feelings…and I am so, _so_ sorry you had to live with her, thinking that she was the only mother you had, and I am so _grateful_ that you are giving me this chance. I love this second chance for us, and you shouldn’t be embarrassed to want love and care, it is a perfectly natural, and normal need. It’s her fault you didn’t receive it when you were younger, but I’m here _now_ , and I promise to make up for the time that I missed.’

Tim smiled fully, before reaching forward and hugging her again. Yes, they may not know each other well, and there may be a few bumps in the future, but they both needed this relationship, needed each other. And while he knew he could never leave Bruce (his first real home, mentor, and _father_ , not to mention a certain bird that comes to mind), he could, and would, make room for Marinette in the rest of his life.

* * *

Tim spent the next couple of weeks, when he wasn’t at school, with Marinette, getting acquainted, and attached.

When she wasn’t working at a desk, he would show her around the city, Showing her his favourite spots and restaurants. If they weren’t doing that, they were in her Gotham studio and apartment, talking and enjoying each other’s company as she put his family’s clothes together.

Chloé, who _adored_ Tim, spoiled him with coffee and gifts whenever they were at the studio at the same time, which was often, though Chloé did tend to go shopping a lot, allowing Marinette and Tim plenty of mother/son bonding time.

He introduced her to go carts, which she always failed spectacularly at, and she introduced him to Ultimate Mecha Strike VIII, which she won every time (although he was getting better).

As she grew closer to Tim, she grew closer to the rest of the Wayne brood, as did Chloé. In fact she was often found with Dick in the gym, doing gymnastics, a relic from her Ladybug days.

But next to Tim, she became closest to Jason, discussing classic literature, lending a sympathetic ear, or simply hugging him when he felt like the world was too much for a while.

She and Alfred also got on swimmingly, and they exchanged recipes frequently, with Marinette being the rare soul Alfred would allow in the kitchen at all, and without supervision.

After Bruce had done sufficient research to ease his (and Jason’s) suspicions, he, and Selina when she turned up, took to Marinette like siblings to a new sister; there was the occasional disagreement, but you’d never allow anything bad to happen to them. In the evenings you could find the three of them together on the same sofa, reading or watching the tellie, with drinks quite a bit stronger than tea in hand, and Selina curled like a cat around them both.

Everything seemed perfect, at least to Marinette, who, in addition to reuniting with her son, had found a wonderful, new family.

But the Wayne gala was approaching fast. After she and Chloé had been invited, and Selina had hired her as well, she had to make three dresses in addition to the suits. Marinette was running out of time, but it wasn’t the clothes—those she had well in hand. No, Marinette was running out of time with Tim. Her company was based in France, and while she had the studio in gotham, that was not counted as a branch she could spend an indefinite amount of time working at. She had only been able to come to Gotham for so long because the Waynes, then Selina, had commissioned her directly.

And she was terrified of Adrien Agreste.

She had heard nothing of his release except that it had happened, and she was scared to death that he would find out where she was, and follow her to Gotham.

And find Tim.

She didn’t know what he’d do if he found out he had a son, but she knew it would be bad. She also knew that if she wanted to protect Tim, she’d have to return to Paris, at the very least to draw Agreste away, and try to deal with him once and for all.

But she did not have high hopes on that score.

And Tim, the sweet, wonderful boy, knew something was wrong.

He had been told the same story as Bruce and Dick, and Jason had been told by Bruce as well, but neither of the two younger boys knew _who_ had done it, or what, exactly, had happened to him. Jason because Bruce was worried what they boy would do, as he was very attached to Marinette, and would do anything for her. And, though he would deny it to his dying breath, he had begun to see her as a second mother.

And Tim…Marinette did not want Tim to worry about how similar he may or may not be to Agreste. Marinette didn’t want him to believe that there was any part of Agreste in him, that he could end up just as bad as his biological father, even if Marinette and the others knew that would never happen. She didn’t want him to compare himself to Agreste, and even though it would be like comparing apples and oranges, he might think he found similarities, and condemn himself for it. Marinette couldn’t bear the thought of that.

Things really took a turn for the worse, however, about a week before the gala.

Marinette was set to meet Tim at their favourite café. It was, for once, a sunny day in Gotham, and she was enjoying the walk from her studio to the café.

She heard Tim laugh, and wondered if he’d run into a friend.

Then she heard the voice that haunted her nightmares, and her heart lurched as her skin crawled.

She saw the flash of blond hair at their usual table.

She didn’t know she’d started running until she was there, and had shoved Agreste hard into the ground.

Not pausing to think, or even feel, she grabbed Tim’s arm and ran and ran and _ran_ , until they were both gasping for breath outside the doors of Wayne manor, just passed the city limits.

As soon as Tim got his breath back, he tore his arm out of her grip.

Marinette blanched as she realised she must have hurt him, and the tears that had threatened to spill as soon as she saw Agreste started falling.

‘I’m sorry,’ she gasped, falling to sit on the steps as she cried, ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you…’

Tim stood in front of her, watching her cry, oddly not exhausted after their miles-long run, looking a little upset.

**❇❇❇❇❇❇❇❇❇❇❇❇❇❇❇❇❇❇❇❇❇❇❇❇❇❇❇❇❇❇❇❇❇❇❇❇❇**

‘What the hell was that, Mari? He was just—’

Anger quickly replaced her tears, so quickly Marinette herself was surprised.

‘He was just _nothing_ ,’ she hissed, startling Tim into taking a step back. ‘He was just using you! He was just _presenting_ a funny, friendly, even _kind_ front to get to you. To get to us… _It’s his fault_. All of it! _He’s_ the reason you were taken away! The reason my parents _beat and isolated_ me, the reason everyone at school _hurt_ me in _every. Way. That mattered_! He— _He_ — ** _HE’S_** the one who _raped_ me. And I would _die_ before I—No, _I WILL **NEVER** ALLOW HIM TO GET HIS CLAWS INTO YOU!_’

The last part was a scream, a promise to the heavens, and by then, Bruce, Alfred, and all the others had come outside to see what the commotion was.

That was also the moment Marinette broke down completely, screaming, heaving for breath, unable to see for the tears, and never feeling more _disgusted_ with herself, tearing at her skin and hair out of abject fear and loathing.

Someone was pulling her hands away, holding her.

Someone else was speaking.

Marinette, still struggling to breath, eyes still blurry, couldn’t hear what was said, but the voice was soothing, A hand was stroking her hair.

**❇❇❇❇❇❇❇❇❇❇❇❇❇❇❇❇❇❇❇❇❇❇❇❇❇❇❇❇❇❇❇❇❇❇❇❇❇**

She looked up and saw Selina kneeling next to her, and speaking, carding her fingers through her hair. Bruce was holding her hands still, keeping them tucked between his warm, large palms. Tim was hugging her, head tucked into the crook of her neck, and arms wrapped tightly around her.

Bruce was speaking now, meeting her gaze with earnest resolve. He would protect them, his eyes seemed to say.

Dick was on the phone, she didn’t know who he was calling, and through the still open door she could see Alfred on the landline.

Jason had disappeared.

Surrounded by most of her family, Marinette finally calmed down fully, the day taking its toll, and fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, break down summary: Marinette tells him it was Adrien that did it, and promises she’ll never let him near Tim (in break down mode), she’s then kept from hurting herself by everyone who’s come out because of the noise.


End file.
